


Backstage at the Bardic Circle

by subversivegrrl



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 12:05:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1093675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/subversivegrrl/pseuds/subversivegrrl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Daryl Dixon ended up reading World’s Longest Poem in front of an audience of friends, and did not fall flat on his ass in the process.  Companion piece to my story, Evergreen, which you need to have read for this to make sense.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Backstage at the Bardic Circle

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Evergreen](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1075929) by [subversivegrrl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/subversivegrrl/pseuds/subversivegrrl). 



“How the _FUCK_ did I ever let you talk me into this?” Daryl groaned. “I’m gonna end up looking like a moron.”

Glenn shrugged. “Hey, asshole, I’m not the one that picked it. You had a ton of other stuff you could have gone with, but _nooooo_ , you liked _this_ one. You’ve got no one but yourself to blame.”

Another blistering string of curses, most of them involving highly improbable sex acts that Glenn was urged to perform, arose from the carpet, where Daryl lay prone, his face buried in the pile. “How much more time we got to work on this, again?” 

“Hours. It’s still morning. And it’s not like we’ve got anything else pressing to do, for a change. Now get up, put on your big boy pants, and let’s try it again.”

He was truly impressed with the range and variety of the man’s vocabulary in expressing just how many different ways Glenn could go fuck himself.

\-------------------------------------------

It had started the previous afternoon. While everyone else was enthusiastically looking through the rooms of the church for ideas on material to perform at their planned holiday celebration, Daryl was mostly just stomping around, swearing under his breath, and periodically announcing to anyone within earshot that he “wasn’t no trained monkey,” or some similar sentiment, and had better things to do with his time, like check his weapons for what Glenn thought was probably the forty-second time that day. The hunter was antsy and irritable from being cooped up inside, not to mention his apparent anxiety at the prospect of having to stand up in front of the rest of them and deliver some performance the following night. He’d made several solo trips out to check the area surrounding the building, until Rick finally convinced him that he was likely to draw attention to them that way and should stay indoors with the rest. 

At some point, Daryl tracked Carol down to solicit her help, and apparently talking to her about it produced some sort of attitude adjustment, because a short while later they showed up in the kitchen with a handful of books, and settled down at one of the tables to look over his options. 

Meanwhile, Glenn had found a cache of rhythm instruments in what appeared to be a music room, and was desperately trying to think of some way of making a solo drum performance interesting. At loose ends, and having little success in figuring out his own contribution, he took a seat at the other end of the table and began - quite unintentionally, of course - to eavesdrop.

“Buncha damn’ hippie wannabes, if you ask me,” Daryl grumbled. “Look at this shit - what the fuck would these people know about wolves, or the way the seasons change, this ‘wheel of the year’ crap - bet none of ‘em ever spent more than a coupla days outdoors at a stretch.” Carol’s reply was soft, and Glenn couldn’t make it out, nor Daryl’s response, but he heard the man’s derisive tone. _Well, screw him if he couldn’t at least make an effort. Everyone else was._

Carol sighed, and her lips set in a firm line, as though she were having some difficulty keeping her tongue in check, but she reached for the last book in the stack and started leafing through it. She stopped, and began reading aloud. “ _‘Like antlers, like veins of the brain, the birches mark patterns of mind on the red winter sky.’_ Wow, that’s… really lovely. Listen to this: _‘The hedges of quick are thick with May blossom, as the dancers advance on the leaf-covered King.’_ ”

She passed the book to Daryl, who began reading it to himself, barely voicing the words. He reached the end of the third verse, turned the page, and launched himself out of his seat. “ _Fuck!_ Did you _see_ this thing? God _damn_ , ain’t no way I’m readin’ something that long. If I gotta do this, I don’t wanna be up there flappin’ my lips for half an hour. There’s gotta be somethin' shorter.” His voice was sullen, like a child being forced to eat its vegetables.

“Sounded pretty cool to me,” Glenn offered.

Daryl rounded on him, spitting, “Nobody fuckin’ _asked_ you, goo… uh, Glenn.”

Glenn could feel his face redden. “Well, fuck you, too, you shit-for-brains hick - I mean, _Daryl_ ,” he said, acidly. It had been months since Daryl had thrown one of his racist taunts at him, and it stung in a way it never had before. He’d thought they were friends, but… _fuck this noise._ Glenn looked over at Carol, whose face reflected his own shock, shook his head, and went to find some less offensive companionship.

\-----------------------------------------------

Carol bit her lip and began making a neat pile of the books they’d reviewed and discarded. “You’re on your own from this point, Daryl. You’ve seen what’s here, so figure out what you want to do, or whether you want to participate at all. And if I may make a suggestion without you feeling like you need to cut on me, too, you might want to start with how the hell you’re going to apologize to Glenn. That was a _shitty_ thing to say to him. He’s a good kid, and he likes you, although sometimes I’m not really sure why. Lord knows _I_ don’t like you very much right now.”

\-----------------------------------------------

It was dark outside when Glenn looked up from his seat at the far end of the dining area to find Daryl standing in front of him, scowling and shifting uneasily from one foot to the other. “‘m sorry, man,” he mumbled. “M’ mouth got away from me.” He stopped and extended a hand. 

Glenn leaned back and just looked at him. “That’s it? That’s the best you’ve got? Man, that was a dick move. I thought we were past all that, and then your redneck roots just show up? Friends don’t act like that.”

Daryl’s jaw clenched, and he kept the hand out. “Said I’m sorry. Wish I could take it back. Can’t promise it’ll never happen again, but I’m tryin’.”

Glenn shrugged, and reluctantly took the offered hand. “I guess I’ll give you a pass on this one; just don’t do it again.” An idea popped into his head, and he eyeballed Daryl, his mind working fast. “I’ll forgive you this time, but I need something from you in return…”

\-------------------------------------------------

For the rest of the evening, and throughout the following morning, the two of them were squirreled away in the music room, and from time to time a bellow of profanity could be heard from inside, causing whoever was nearby to jump in alarm. Each time the commotion died down without further incident, and everyone relaxed again. Eventually Daryl and Glenn emerged to have something to eat, neither of them appearing any the worse for wear. When they finally rejoined the group for good late in the afternoon, both looked smug, and if you didn’t know better, you’d almost think that was a smile on Daryl Dixon’s face.


End file.
